


Letters Through The Storm

by QuickSilverFox3



Series: MorMor Little Ficlets [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Jim's off at Uni, M/M, Short, Soldiers, War, letter writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 19:00:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1237480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickSilverFox3/pseuds/QuickSilverFox3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The pen moved effortlessly over the page, the writer’s face set in an intense look of bored concentration, chewing on the pen lid before signing his name with a flourish and sticking his hand in the air.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters Through The Storm

The pen moved effortlessly over the page, the writer’s face set in an intense look of bored concentration, chewing on the pen lid before signing his name with a flourish and sticking his hand in the air.  
The teacher descended upon him like a bat, coffee stench following him like a cloak, and murmured, “What is it Moriarty?”  
"I’m done," Jim said condescendidly, waiting for two heartbeats before adding, "Sir." The teacher sniffed and stuffed the letter roughly into an envelope before gesturing for the Irish boy to exit the classroom which he did with a flourish, mind already set on his next course of action, the letter to the solider present but otherwise ignored.

The bullets still haunted him in his dreams, no escape from the deathly hunks of metal that ripped through him time and time. Sebastian jolted awake as the hand was laid on his shoulder, knife to their throat in a heartbeat, and carefully releasing them in another as their face broke through the dream fog: Ally.  
"What is it?" he grumbled, rubbing a hand over his face and feeling the scratchiness of the stubble, the sensation nearly indistinguishable from the sand that covered everything.  
"Letter for you Colonel," the soldier stammered out, swallowing wildly as his gaze never left Sebastian’s hands, "Some school project where they write to a soldier."  
With a scoff Sebastian took the letter and sent the grateful man away with a flick of his fingers and inspected the piece of paper. The envelope itself was crinkled and rumpled, either from the journey or the school was cheap. Second class stamp, cheap school. The sniper used the knife still clutched in between white knuckles to open the letter, after all it may be from some snot nosed brat (he resolutely ignored the little voice that whispered that it could have been him in the cosy Uni) but a letter was nothing to be scoffed at.  
 **I’m doing this because I have to. Not because I wanted to.**  
Sebastian bit back the bark of laughter, snot nosed brat it was.  
 **I have to do the customary introductions however or the professor will take away my marks for this term. Don’t get yourself killed and that’s an order soldier. I’m not doing this again.**  
Was it possible for a written sentence to be that commanding? This kid was very sure of himself, even through the chicken scratch that would have deterred a lesser man.  
 **I’m Jim Moriarty. I’m studying in London, though I wont tell you what course as they are unspeakably boring. And unless you’re clever, you wouldn’t understand them. I’m from Ireland, though I currently have half my class convinced I’m American. Like I said, boring. You better interest me soldier. I’m stuck with this assignment for the rest of the year.**  
 **JM**  
That was the most pretenious, stuck up little bastard Sebastian had ever encountered, and yet he was looking forward to seeing the others reaction to this soldier. Grabbing a piece of paper, he began to write back, chewing on his cracked and bleeding lower lip.  
 ** _You’re a pretenious little bastard aren’t you?_**


End file.
